


fsck

by FavorsTheFoolish



Series: Children of the Sun [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Infidelity (depending on perspective), M/M, References to Abuse, References to Incest, references to non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 20:41:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FavorsTheFoolish/pseuds/FavorsTheFoolish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek hunts down Stiles to talk about feelings.  Seriously.</p><p>Over here if you prefer tumblr: http://leastlikelyto.tumblr.com/post/68326916138/fsck-fic-arrives-in-a-vacuum-tube-from-points-unknown</p>
            </blockquote>





	fsck

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for references to non-con, being trapped in an enclosed space, forced conversations/confrontations, infidelity (depending on how you look at it), references to incest, references to rough/abusive sex, controlling behavior. Also incomplete sentences in dialog, mild abuse of italics, and references to UNIX systems by someone with only the faintest grasp of UNIX. Still unbeta’d, still not sure how far the series will go. 
> 
> Please note: This chunk is Sterek-y, but not all the stories in this au have Stiles and Derek together, and it’s unlikely that any will have Stiles paired solely with Derek. I know that’s a dealbreaker for some folks, so, you know, there’s your warning that this is likely not your bag.

It took about a week and change before Derek could get Stiles by himself.  Derek had seen him; there was one pack meeting, and then Derek had gone by their apartment to pick up a book and drop off another, but Stuart had been right at Stiles’ shoulder, staring Derek down despite Stiles elbowing him in the stomach.  

  


Derek was starting to miss the pack being high schoolers.  It was a hell of a lot easier to corner someone when you knew where they’d be for eight hours a day, which bathrooms they walked by, and how late practice was running.  

  


He could still catch Danny alone pretty easily, though.

  


“What the fuck are you even  _doing_ here?!” Danny grumbled when he opened his own office door to find Derek sitting at his computer, playing Freecell.  

  


“Getting claustrophobic in the broom closet you call an office.  I need your help,” Derek answered.  Danny dropped his bag into a wood and canvas chair with some pretty dubious looking stains.

  


“Oh god,  _what?_ ” he groaned, pulling out a smaller bag from the first.  “And make it quick, I’ve got a class to allegedly assist teaching in ten minutes.”

  


“I know.  That’s the one Stiles is in, right?”  

  


Danny stared at him.  It was well known in the pack that one of the greatest regrets of Danny’s life was that his double major of electrical engineering and computer science, with a minor in physics, was subsidized by essentially teaching people his own age and older the beginning computer science classes.  The fact that Stiles was one of his UNIX students on account of pursuing a library and information sciences track just added insult to injury.  

  


“If Stiles sent you here to get me to let him off easy on the midterm assignment, I swear to god, Derek--”

  


“No, I need you to send him out of class today, I don’t care what for--”

  


Danny cut Derek off by dumping the bag onto his desk, spilling out a large pile of flash drives.

  


“Done.  Jesus.  Why didn’t you say so?”  Danny said, smacking Derek’s hand as he reached for one of the drives that appeared to be shaped like an inch and a half long dick.  “I’ll send him to go reboot the server on the fifth floor.”

  


“There is no fifth floor,” Derek narrowed his eyes, baring his teeth slightly as he rubbed his hand.  

  


“Oh my god, really?  You’re telling me I have roof-servers?” Danny snapped.  “Of course there’s no fifth floor, genius.  Stiles won’t realize that until he’s in the elevator at least.  You can catch him outside the room.   _Quietly_ .  I have a lot to go over today.  Now scram, I have to make a hundred and fifty packets on a copier that’s older than you are in fifteen minutes.”

  


“You were nicer in high school,” Derek mentioned, getting up.  Danny’s eye twitched.

  


“Yeah, well, four years of werewolf-druid-banshee-nightmare  _bullshit_ takes its toll.  Out.”

  


Shooed out of the broom closet, Derek found a quiet corner in which to lurk near the computer lab, falling silently into step behind Stiles as he came out muttering about alleged computer geniuses who couldn’t run a remote reboot command on a UNIX box.  He didn’t notice Derek walking behind him; it wasn’t until Stiles stepped into the elevator and turned that Stiles noticed Derek at all.

  


“Heyyyyyyy Derek,” Stiles said, all color draining out of his face except the moles, “Love to chat, but gotta go, class time and--” Stiles said, clearly mashing the ‘close door’ button frantically.  Derek’s chin tilted down as he stuck his hand into the closing door.  

  


Nothing about this situation was acceptable, but Derek had thought he could handle it.  He could handle resolution with Stiles being kept from him by Stuart’s constant presence (probably deliberately, but possibly also by pure coincidence, bad timing).  But Stiles complicit, actively avoiding him?  It was infuriating enough to make Derek wish he was still the Alpha.  He crowded into the elevator, letting the door shut.  

  


“Seriously, big guy, not a good time; I’m in class,” Stiles said, trying to sidle around Derek to the elevator’s control panel.  “Danny needs me to reboot a server…”

  


Derek stepped aside, nodding a ‘go ahead’ at the buttons.

  


“...on the fifthffffffuck you Danny,” Stiles groaned as he reached for the non-existent five button, thudding his head above the panel.  His stomach visibly twitched when Derek reached between his belly and the wall to press the button for the sub-basement, then flipped the stop switch.  When Stiles neither moved nor spoke, Derek put his hand on Stiles’ chest and pushed until Stiles was backed against the far wall.  

  


"Kay, so, giving you time to cool off, not the right move?" Stiles asked, swallowing. 

  


Derek had no words. Cool  _off_ _?_  Did Stiles seriously think a cold shower was enough to reset the wrongness here?  His face must have been broadcasting all this pretty clearly, because Stiles raised both palms and tried to take another step back with nowhere to go.

  


"Making you angrier, not what I was going for," Stiles continued quickly. "I just... 'sorry' isn't going to cut it this time, is it?" 

  


"You tell me," Derek growled.  Stiles reeked of guilt, that turned-in horror that Derek could recognize at a thousand yards because that was pretty much his zip code.  It took Stiles a moment to get his words together past the gorge Derek could see rising.

  


"I should have told you before, Derek, but I really thought that me and Stu could handle it.  I swear.”

  


Stiles finally quit darting his gaze around the car and looked at Derek for two solid seconds.

  


“I swear, and I’m so sorry, you shouldn’t’ve had to-- it was like a will, y’know?  Like I left all my gaming consoles to Isaac even though he’s got the hand-eye coordination of a flounder even though he’s a fucking werewolf, it was one of those things that I never thought would ever actually happen.”

  


Derek stared, feeling like the temperature was dropping in the car a few degrees for every word that fell out of Stiles’ mouth.

  


“So you picked me to be your ‘emergency contact for weird shit’ because you thought I’d be the worst at it?” Derek ground out.  “Because you thought it’d be  _ironically funny?_ ”

  


Stiles slumped against the wall of the elevator, like he was the one having his insides shredded up by words.

  


“No, dude, you’re- you always- no matter what stupid shit I do.  I just…” Stiles sighed.  “I thought that if I ever asked, it’d be too much.  And then when I had to ask, I couldn’t, because, you know, unconscious and chatting with all our dead frenemies and families.”

  


Which technically answered Derek’s question, though not much beyond.  He waited for Stiles to say more, but nothing came.

  


“And now you won’t even look me in the eye,” Derek heard himself say.  Stiles glanced briefly up, wincing at the brief moment of eye contact and dropping his eyes again.

  


“They don’t really make an apology card for this.  I checked Some eCards and everything,” he muttered.  

  


“Can you still look Stuart in the eye?” Derek blurted, and Stiles lurched back, trying to press himself through the wall.  “Did he tell you what he did to you before I got there?  Did he tell you what he said to me, what he told  _me_ to do to you?  Or did he tell you that all this was my fault?”

  


Because it is and it isn’t, Derek thought, this new flavor of guilt which was his, but not  _just_ his.   

  


At that, Stiles looked up.

  


“Your fault.   How  is it your fault?” he asked, confusion overriding his inability to meet Derek’s look just as Derek’s ability to meet Stiles’ failed him.  Derek’s words started spilling out like the bile he felt rising was driving them.

  


“I shouldn’t have- I never listen to Stuart, because Stuart’s usually lying, but he was so scared, and he believed every word he said when he said that he could consent for you, and he’d… he  _fucked_ you Stiles, and you didn’t wake up, and he talked about it like it was normal, like he’d just borrowed a shirt from you.  I didn’t know how to wake you up and he said that was what would work and he believed it but he hated it so it seemed true, but how could I take anyone’s word but yours that that was okay?”

  


The words ended in a gasp, Derek sucking in a breath like he’d been dry heaving, and when he was sure he wasn’t about to vomit on his own shoes or Stiles’, he risked looking at Stiles’ face, which was trapped somewhere between stunned and calm.

  


“And you came back,” Derek added.  

  


“I did,” Stiles confirmed.  Derek swallowed hard, hating that now of all times he had to pry words out of Stiles.

  


“What does that mean?” he asked.  Stiles shrugged, sliding his back down the elevator wall to sit and stare up at Derek wearily.

  


“I don’t know, Derek.  I’d never done that spell before.”

  


“It’s  your  spell!” Derek snapped, fist darting sideways without his conscious permission to dent the aluminum wall next to them, making Stiles jump.  “What do you  _think_ it means?” 

  


Stiles’ jaw worked like he was trying to chew through his tongue rather than answer.

  


“It means I should be grateful,” Stiles answered, carefully, “that you agreed to help.  And I am.  And I’m sorry.”

  


Derek flinched at that, and the pain on his face seemed to K.O. Stiles’ resolve to silence.

  


“Dude, I  _am_ .  I wish… I don’t know what Stuart told you, but I can guess, and I know you-- I know it doesn’t--”

  


Stiles’ voice cracked and he thunked his head against the wall behind him, and Derek could smell the salt of Stiles’ eyes tearing up.  

  


“I know it doesn’t mean that you wanted to, and I’m sorry.”

  


Derek could’ve kicked himself for not thinking that Stiles would look at it that way, after so many years of Derek, of himself, all of them buckling down and doing what needed to be done.

  


“I don’t know if you wanted to,” Derek said.  “And it’s kind of late to be asking, but I am.  I wanted to know if you would’ve, or if Stuart was just out of ideas, because he sure as hell didn’t want me touching you.  He’d bruised you up, I could taste him on you.”

  


Derek watched Stiles’ face, but there wasn’t a trace of shame to be found.  

  


“It wasn’t the first time, was it?” Derek asked.  They always smelled like each other, but he’d never thought… he’d just never thought.  “With him?”

  


Stiles shook his head no.  

  


“God,  _Stiles…_ ” Derek shuddered, looking down, and his disgust or his horror, Derek himself wasn’t sure what to call what he felt, drove Stiles back to his feet, jaw set and defiant.

  


“Don’t,” he said, hands clenching and unclenching. “I owe you, a lot, but I don't owe you giving up my brother, Derek."

  


"What kind of brother--"

  


"Do you really want to play the unforgivable family member game, dude?" Stiles interrupted. Derek shut his mouth, guilt and rage twisting inside him despite the undeniable logic of Stiles' question.  The fight in Stiles sputtered out as quick as it had lit up.

  


"I'm sorry. Low blow. I'm sorry," Stiles sighed, scrubbing his hands through his hair, over his eyes. 

  


"Does he force you?" Derek asked, and instantly wished he could take it back, because  _no_ seemed just as bad as  _yes_ . 

  


"Sometimes."

  


Leave it to Stiles to find the one answer that was even worse than either. It must have shown on Derek’s face, because Stiles started up again:

  


"It's not like that, Derek,  _we're_ not. We're two parts of the same thing. We always will be."

  


"And that makes it okay for him to hurt you?" Derek exploded. Stiles winced at the volume, but just shrugged again, answering, 

  


"I don't mind. It's how we are."

  


"And what if you want someone else?" Derek demanded. "He won't just let you go." 

  


"He'll learn to share," Stiles replied.  Derek heard him believe it, and went for broke.

  


"He wouldn't even let me kiss you while I was having sex with you, Stiles. He got pissed off when I was gentle with you, he told me to hurt you, and wouldn't let me kiss you  _once_ .  When you woke up and called me ‘puppy’ I was surprised he didn’t try to stab me.  What part of that sounds like he’d learn to share?" Derek argued. 

  


Instead of answering, Stiles stared silently for a moment, mouth hanging open slightly. 

  


"Back up," Stiles said. "You wanted to kiss me?" 

  


Derek could only raise his eyebrows so high in disbelief before he got a migraine.

  


"Why is  _that_ the part of this that's weird to you?" he asked. "Or is Stuart the 'no one else will ever want you' abusive type?" 

  


Stiles snorted with a crooked grin.

  


"Stu thinks everyone wants me. I never thought about it, but if I had to make a list of names of  people who might wanna kiss me, Derek Hale would not have been on there."

  


"Well then you're not qualified to make that list!" Derek snapped, then bit down on the back of his own tongue with his molars to try to stop himself from digging this hole any deeper than the sub-basement.  

  


"I'm getting that," Stiles said evenly.  "But are you still on that list?" 

  


Derek started. Stiles gave a tired chuckle. 

  


"It's okay if you're not, Derek. People have been telling me I'm a lot cuter when I'm asleep since preschool."

  


Derek thought back to the night Stuart had texted him, thought about the silence, and let his own tongue heal itself. 

  


"All I wanted was to hear you again, " Derek confessed.  "I didn't know if I could get you to wake up, and you weren't just asleep, it was like you were comatose.  The last time I was that scared--"

  


Derek trailed off again, remembering the black leaking from Cora’s mouth, remembering being so much stronger and so much weaker at the same time.

  


"--you  were still Alpha," Stiles finished for him. Derek nodded.  Stiles stepped closer. 

  


"So, like… on a list of hypothetical people who’d want to kiss you… I'm on your list. You know that, right?" 

  


Derek didn’t answer, but he looked at Stiles' mouth, watching the words. 

  


"Can I?" Stiles asked softly, and when Derek nodded, he touched Derek’s chin, moving him just slightly, and then they were kissing, softly.

  


The last time Derek had felt so relieved, Stiles had been swimming towards him at the bottom of the Beacon Hills High pool. 

  


"You okay?" Stiles asked against his mouth.  Derek nodded, eyes half shut.  Stiles kissed him again briefly.  “I really gotta get back to class.  Danny’s kind of an asshole when it comes to grade curving.”

  


Derek nodded again, stepped back, and switched the toggle back to run.  Stiles reached up, squeezing Derek’s shoulder and pressed the button for the first floor.  Derek got out of the way as the doors opened, letting Stiles out first before shuffling out, hands in his pockets because he had no idea what else to do with them.  Stiles smiled awkwardly, gesturing towards his classroom with his thumb over his shoulder.

  


“Stiles,” Derek said once Stiles was touching the door handle.  Stiles looked back at him, and Derek didn’t think he was going to like the answer to what he intended to ask.

  


“What if I didn’t want to share?” he asked.  Stiles shut his eyes for a second, then stood up straighter and looked at Derek with some sort of desperate resolve that made Derek wonder if he’d misread this, if he’d just been mercy-kissed, or if Stiles had just been curious.

  


“You’d have to learn,” was all Stiles said before he went back into his classroom.


End file.
